A Glimpse of the Future
by ConcertiGrossi
Summary: For Georgette Heyer's "A Civil Campaign."  Time marches on, and Fate has an odd sense of humor.


**Author's Note:**

I wrote this for Yuletide 2009, but am just now posting it here...

* * *

There must've been quarter-centuries when the world did not change. Perhaps, in Ancient Egypt or Babylon, a new father, gazing down into the face of his first born son, could expect that the boy would grow to become a man in much the same way as his ancestors did. Even through the Medieval era, war might come; dynasties might rise and fall, but a baby, opening his eyes for the first time, might close them in roughly three-score-and-ten years (if he were fortunate) with the same societal structures and community institutions more or less intact.

This would not be so for the Honorable Giles Jonathan Deveril.

In young Giles' first twenty-five years, Fontley prospered immensely. Between his father's agricultural improvements, and his grandfather's industrial investments, their whole area of Lincolnshire had been reinvigorated. At Holkham, the Deveril lands were spoken of as the very model of modern agricultural practice. Old Mr. Chawleigh (still vigorous in his eighth decade - his subordinates joked that even the Reaper feared The Tartar's temper) might have no interest in the refinements of farming, but he still took a great interest in anything mechanical. By chance, decades before, his son-in-law had taken him to see one of the great engines that drained the fens; the machine so fascinated Mr. Chawleigh that he began to invest heavily in the technology. As a result, their fields were at the forefront when the engines switched to steam, for Chawleigh considered the steam engine to be the greatest miracle of the modern age, and the old man was working, so it was rumored, to bring a railway line through Peterborough.

Yes, Giles' father, Lord Lynton, could look over the intervening years with well-deserved satisfaction: he had prosperous lands; seven children to be proud of (even if Alexander's dandyish extravagances were as frustrating as they were amusing); his house was still exceptionally harmonious and well-run, and he was deeply in love with his wife. Lady Lynton was not untouched by time (who ever is, after all?) but she'd grown in confidence and dignity, and had become such a part of Fontley that no one, Lord Lynton least of all, could imagine anyone else in her place. Theirs was not a passionate marriage, but a partnership based on mutual respect and purpose; unromantic, perhaps, but a strong and solid foundation.

This particular week was an important one: they were running a trial of a new design of drainage engine for the swamps nearest Market Deeping, a task he would have thought impossible when he first inherited his lands. Mr. Chawleigh would be there, of course, and, to Lynton's great surprise, the young Duke of Fendow had hinted for (and naturally, received) an invitation. He and Fendow were well-acquainted, as his Grace was a noted agriculturalist in his own right, but he hadn't expected to be on terms of such intimacy.

Lynton was interrupted in this train of thought by a knock at his library door, and the entry of his lady wife. "I've just had a letter from Papa… I told him about the Duke's arrival, and he has half a mind to cry off."

"What?" asked Adam. "How can he, when the machine is from his foundry?"

"I'll write him back and told him not to talk nonsense. You know how stubborn he can be, though…"

"Tell him I'll postpone the attempt if he's not here. Good Lord, after all these years…"

"I know, Adam, and I will. He's always been set in his ways, and he'll certainly not change now." Her eyes narrowed as she smiled. "And I have an answer to the mystery of the Duke's sudden interest…"

Adam raised his eyebrows. "Have you?"

"Lydia wrote me as well, you see… I mentioned the Duke to her in my last letter, and it seems that, when Claudia was visiting their house in town last month, he started to call on Adversane much more frequently."

"What!" said Adam. "But she's only a -"

Jenny's grin spread. " - a young lady about to start her second Season?"

"Impossible!" Adam cried. Claudia, though a great beauty, had formed no attachments in her first Season, a circumstance her father had thought entirely appropriate. She was, in his mind, still a little girl in short skirts.

"Lydia says that while she did nothing outside the bounds of the strictest propriety, she also did nothing to discourage the Duke's attentions. Which she would certainly do, if he displeased her."

They were silent, for a moment. The shock lingered. "Lydia may be imagining things…" said Adam.

Jenny smiled. "I would say she's too clear-headed for that. You won't say anything to Claudia, will you? If she has _a tendre_ for him, she will tell us in her own good time."

"Naturally, naturally." A dazed Adam took his wife's hand.

—-

"It is just as I hoped! Providence has intervened!" The Marchioness of Rockhill burst into the drawing room where her daughter, Lady Althea Theodosia, sat reading. (Lady Althea, no fool she, quickly whipped her spectacles off her face and hid the forbidden tome under her embroidery.)

"What is just as you'd hoped, Mamma?" asked Lady Althea.

"The Duke of Fendow will be visiting Fontley."

"Have we been invited as well?" asked Lady Althea, quite surprised. The Lyntons and the Rockhills had always moved in the same circles; they were good friends, but direct invitations of this sort were not that common.

"No, but we shall go to visit your uncle Oversley, and from there, what would be more natural than to call? You must look your best, my dear." Lady Rockhill gave her daughter an appraising stare. Even Lord Rockhill, indulgent father though he was, had never been able to call his third child a beauty.

"Mamma, the Duke has no interest in me, and I have even less in him! He is polite and gentlemanly, but nothing more."

"Nonsense, my girl! You don't know what you're saying -" Here, she paused: Althea, in her frustration, had swept the concealing embroidery away, and thus revealed the evidence of her crime. "What are you reading?" Julia's lips moved as she read the title, On the Economy of Machinery and Manufactures. "Oh, Althea…"

"But it interests me!"

Julia placed a hand on her forehead. "These books are very dangerous for young girls! I am only concerned for your health! Do you want to die of brain fever?"

"Of course not, Mamma."

"Besides, bluestockings went out of fashion over fifty years ago!"

"The Countess of Lovelace recommended it to me…"

"What Lord Byron's unnatural daughter chooses to do is not my concern. Your behavior is. I am VERY disappointed, Althea."

And she swept out of the room as precipitously as she had entered it.

—-

Julia, the Marchioness of Rockhill, could have been a great deal happier than she currently was.

To be sure, she had been, for a very long time. She grew to love her indulgent husband, and had excelled at her duties as his wife in Society. She might not have been such a capable housewife as Lady Lynton, and much more prone to the vapors and the occasional flight of temper, but Rockhill's household had been run efficiently without a mistress for many years, so very little close supervision was needed. Her position required that she be charming, pretty and well-dressed: these were her strongest suits.

Before her husband died, the only true tragedy in her situation was this: she had not been able to produce an heir to the Marquessate. Julia had undergone four pregnancies: the first, a son, died 3 months after his birth; with the next two, she miscarried late; and while her fourth, her daughter, Lady Althea Theodosia, grew hale and hearty, Julia's confinement very nearly killed her. The doctors said another attempt would prove fatal, and so no further attempts were made. Rockhill accepted this circumstance philosophically: he loved his wife too much to risk her health, and, if the demands of the flesh became too pressing (which, with his advancing age, was happening with a great deal less frequency), he'd never found discreet mistresses that difficult to acquire. He set about teaching his presumptive heir, Aubrey Edgecott, the ins and outs of his estates. Julia, for her part, regretted immensely not having a son, but, if the truth were told, had not enjoyed pregnancy or the havoc that childbearing wreaks on the figure. She poured her energies into her life in Society, and worked to raise her daughter to follow in her footsteps.

When Rockhill died of a putrid fever, a year before the young Queen's accession, however, Julia faced some difficult changes. Rockhill left her well provided for, with a handsome portion should she choose to remarry, but watching Lavinia Edgecott take her place was a bitter pill to swallow. Everyone's attention shifted, quite naturally, to the new Marquess and Marchioness, leaving Julia quite in the shade, without even the dignity of "Dowager" before her name. Age had touched her, too, though she did her best not to admit it, and fought each creeping sign with every artifice known to woman. She was only 43, and still quite handsome, but she had a tendency to adopt fashions in such a way as to cause unkind persons to gossip about mutton dressed as lamb.

She turned her ambitions to her daughter, and was there again thwarted. Lady Althea was bookish, nearsighted, plain as a parson's widow, and possessed a keen, analytical mind: any one of these things would cause a girl difficulty in the drawing-rooms of London. Her father, while he lived, encouraged her passion for learning, but her mother, once he died, tried to stamp it out. Lady Althea had just returned from a year away with some cousins in France: her first Season had been so disappointing that her mother had sent her away to see if she could acquire at least a little polish.

And she had, but Lady Althea loved mathematics and machinery more than ever.

—

Lady Rockhill and her daughter called on the second day of the trials, and was welcomed, as they always were. Julia feigned a polite interest when Adam told her about the engine, but all could see, to her mother's dismay, Althea's obvious enthusiasm. When Giles offered to bring her out to see it, Julia very nearly intervened, but Althea was saved when the Duke endorsed the plan. Althea forgot herself entirely: to the fury of her mother, she became entranced by the workings, questioning Lynton and Chawleigh about the machinery nearly incessantly. The Duke was amused, but as Claudia had agreed to come out as well, he was distinctly distracted. Althea and Julia returned to Breckenhurst that night, and Julia took to her bed with a sick headache, after castigating her daughter at length for her unwomanly behavior.

The next day, however, they discovered that Althea had, indeed, made one conquest. As she sat alone in the drawing room, the housemaid came in.

"Mr. Giles Deveril to call, ma'am," she said.

Althea's eyebrows shot up. They'd played together as children, long ago, but she hadn't seen him since she'd been away. "Show him in."

The maid complied. A nervous young Giles came in. "Lady Althea. How good it is to see you again."

"The pleasure is mine, Mr. Deveril. Do sit down."

They both sat. These formalities concluded, neither of them knew what to say. Giles broke first. "Did you enjoy yourself yesterday?'

"Very much - that is to say, it was enjoyable to be in such good company."

He shook his head. "No, that's not it… you liked the engine?"

She blushed, thinking of her mother's angry words. "It was…"

"Don't be embarrassed! I don't have a good head for it myself… and Claudia's a utter clunch when it comes to such things, she says women aren't made to understand machines. But you do, don't you?"

She nodded, much confused.

"I think it's amazing," he grinned. "If you'd like, I can show you one of my grandfather's foundries someday…"

"I'd like that very much," she smiled for the first time that day, but the smile disappeared quickly. "My mother won't allow it."

"Really? She let you come yesterday."

"Yes… but that's only because she wishes me to marry -" She stopped suddenly, and blushed.

Giles, however, was no fool. "Ah. I see." He paused. "Do you wish to?"

She blushed again at the bold question. "Well, yes. But not to him."

A sly smile started. "My sister's engagement will be announced in a few days. The Duke of Fendow asked my father for her hand last night… I tell you this in confidence, of course."

Althea's eyes went wide. "Oh! Do send her my felicitations." She was trying to imagine her mother any angrier that she already was, and was having difficulty.

"I shall." He wanted to ask her what sort of man she would marry, and would she consider a Viscount's heir? But that would be passing bold, and not at all the thing, even if manners had changed since his parents were young. "May I call on you again?"

She smiled. "I'd like that, Mr. Deveril."


End file.
